


Loving Someone in Less Words

by magickbeing



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and frustation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 20:25:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4113780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magickbeing/pseuds/magickbeing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spencer fixates. Derek closes himself off.</p>
<p>Is it really so hard to say 'I love you'?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loving Someone in Less Words

Derek Morgan has yet to say  _I love you_ to his boyfriend of nearly eight months, Spencer Reid.

 

Well — maybe that's not  _entirely_ true. 

 

Derek's  _I love you_ frequently comes out as an almost dismissive  _ditto_ or  _you too,_ or an occasional, somewhat teasing  _right back at you, pretty boy._

 

Sometimes Spencer wonders why this is — Derek is generally affectionate, caring and open and they both know that's how he feels — it's obvious in his mannerisms, in the way his hand brushes over Spencer's hair every morning and his lips find his forehead or how he disguises  _one more kiss_ as a need to straighten his tie before work. 

 

He tries talking to Derek about it but his concerns are practically dismissed, their conversation quickly turning into a heated argument. Voice edged, words like  _you should know how I feel about you_ and  _I can't believe you doubt that—me_ are hurled at him until his own voice breaks and he stops trying, more downtrodden and doubt-ridden than before. He tries telling himself that it's not him, that Derek really  _does_ love him and he just...  _can't_ say it for some reason. He tries not to analyze his partner but it's  _hard,_ especially when he has those tools so readily at his disposal.

 

He even tries talking to Penelope about it.

 

It's a last resort, of course, and does little to help. Penelope is just as confused as he is with Derek's behavior. He's told  _her_ those three words before — why not his boyfriend of nearly eight months? Penelope tries talking to Derek on his behalf. He doesn't seem to become as defensive with her. Still, he closes himself off.  _I tell him I love him all the time_ and  _maybe this was a mistake, baby girl_ are highlights of the conversation, remarks that cause Spencer's heart to drop into his stomach and his nerves to spike.

 

It's beyond frustrating.

 

How hard are those  _three little words?_ If Derek really  _does_ mean them then why is it so hard to  _say_ them instead of  _you too_ or  _ditto?_ It's only one more syllable.  _One. More. Syllable._

 

He knows he's being ridiculous. He's fixating, obsessing, and he knows he needs to stop because if he doesn't — if he doesn't there's a chance he's going to push Derek right out the door and lose one of the best things that has ever happened to him.

 

And it's four o'clock in the morning on a Thursday when he realizes how stupid he's been.

 

He's pouring over his latest dissertation paper, something needed even for _him_ to get another PhD; papers and books are scattered across the floorboards and over almost every available surface. Derek's laptop is sitting on the coffee table, as are several pages of hand-written notes. He's supposed to be typing it but it's not the _same —_ it doesn't help him _think_ like physically jotting down his words does—and he's pacing around the small island that is the couch.

 

There's a creak as the bedroom door opens _—_ he's barely aware of the movement. He's _so_ close to piecing together the final aspects of his thesis, if he could just.. _think._

 

Movement in his peripheral tells him Derek is headed to the kitchen.

 

He ignores him, turning to retrace his steps around the couch.

 

Seconds pass. Maybe minutes _— minutes are more likely, actually —_ because then Derek is returning to the living room, blinking blearily at him and rubbing the back of his neck as he pours over a cup of coffee _— Spencer almost always has coffee made when he's home —_ and his voice is rough with sleep when he interrupts Spencer's train of thought with: “Lay it on me, pretty boy.”

 

Spencer turns, blinking frantically at him, and a crease forms along his brow.

 

Derek is sitting on the couch, then, blocking his path, and his lips press into a thin line.

 

Derek looks at him expectantly but he remains quiet and it's that silence that seems to prompt an attempt at an explanation... or at least, that's what Derek likely considers it to be. Spencer can focus on little more than his current thesis, a paper which is due within hours and Derek is currently distracting him from.

 

“Let me be your sounding board.”

 

More silence.

 

“You think better out-loud,” Derek explains, a slight smile twitching along his lips as he raises his mug.

 

Spencer blinks.

 

“You won't understand it.”

 

The words are flat. They're factual, not mean — or at least they're not intended to be.

 

Derek snorts along the rim of his mug, quickly lowering it, and there's a chuckle in his voice when he speaks, “Think I don't know that by now?”

 

Some of the tension that had blanketed his shoulders lifts, vanishes, and Spencer nods once, trying to understand.

 

Derek leans forward and manages to find a bit of the coffee table _not_ covered by varying research articles to set his mug on. He reaches out for Spencer and Spencer instinctively takes his hand. He's tugged forward, half-guided toward the couch beside him. He tries not to snap at Derek — what ever he's doing, he doesn't have _time_ for... but then Derek is talking more, his hand warm in his, and Spencer's mind instinctively tunes in to listen.

 

“Tell me what you're thinking,” he coaxes, the corners of his eyes lifting in a small smile. “I know I won't understand it, pretty boy... not all of it, anyway. But you think better when you can say it, when you can work through it with someone. We all do, it's —“

 

“—a tactic we use as a team all of the time,” Spencer supplies slowly, forehead smoothing some as he gazes at his lover.

 

Derek nods, reaching up with his other hand to tap a single finger lightly against his temple, the movement accompanied with the words: “Ah, there he is. Knew you'd catch up sometime, kid.” It's light and teasing and completely _Derek_ and Spencer's reply falls from his lips without conscious permission, abrupt and random.

 

“I love you.”

 

Derek's eyebrows twitch up and his smile widens.

 

“You too,” is the scripted reply, even then, and Spencer's lips pinch at their corners. Before he can think too much into it, Derek's hand is moving to stroke his hair and he's encouraging Spencer to _think_ by saying, “Now. Lay it on me, baby.”

 

And _think_ Spencer does, although, perhaps, not in the way Derek had intended.

 

The pieces sort of just _click_ and he realizes, quite abruptly, that yes, maybe Derek _has_ never said 'I love you,' word for word. But right there, in that moment, it practically radiates from the other man. His gaze is warm, fond, and his touch is gentle and affectionate. Most people barely tolerate Spencer's rambling and yet here he is encouraging it. He thinks back to what Penelope had recited to him: _I tell him I love him all the time._

 

His lips spread into a smile, small and maybe fleeting but genuine, and Derek's lips twitch into a smile of their own. There's a squeeze to his fingers and Spencer can suddenly hear it, his thoughts taking on Derek's voice and knowing it to be true...

 

_I love you too._

**Author's Note:**

> Again, encouragement fuels my muse, be it a simple 'love it' or 'more please'. I promise I'm working on another part of The Used series too; two parts, actually.


End file.
